


It's Where We Go

by truebluemoon



Series: I'm a (Blood)Sucker for You [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, F/F, Flirting, Horror, Interrupted Sex, Modern Thedas, One Night Stands, Vaginal Fingering, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 03:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truebluemoon/pseuds/truebluemoon
Summary: Isabela's had a long day of hunting down vamps and just wants a nice lay. When she meets a delicious young woman at a bar, how could she say no?





	It's Where We Go

Being a Hunter, capital H, was hard work.

Isabela thought so anyways, as she unloaded bullet after bullet into the vampire’s chest. Blood spurted from the gunshot wound as he tried to move towards her. Each shot sent him a little further back in his progress. The recoil didn’t hit her as hard as it used to, so she could have probably kept shooting. But she stopped at three. The poison was going to kick in soon enough.

And kick in it did, moments later. He struggled to stay on his feet - a stubborn one, then. The stubborn ones were somehow always the most satisfying to take down, her partner always said. Personally, Isabela preferred the easy kills. He stayed standing for a few more seconds before dropping to his knees. Finally, he collapsed onto the segmented, rocky pavement. It probably hadn’t been maintained in years, she figured. Not maintained like this vampire’s appetite.

He would have been a garden variety serial killer if it weren’t for his nature. Vamps, as she called them, didn’t have to be killers. They could subsist on blood bags from hospitals or willing victims (thralls, the Hunters called them). Both of those tended to cost a lot of cash, so it was no wonder some turned to murder. Isabela would have pitied them if not for the death toll. It didn’t hurt that she got paid to take them out – hopefully, before they hurt anyone else. For her, though, it was about the money at the end of the day.

And she was going to get a big payday for this guy.

As customary, she walked up to the vamp and decapitated him. The head was sent flying through the air in such a way that was so over the top it was almost comical. Tails of blood whipped down from the cut at the neck, and blood streamed down from the now empty neck wound on the body, some of which was starting to congeal at the center. But Isabela’s attention was back on the head, in mid-air. Isabela hid a snicker as the projectile dashed along its path, before rolling on the ground. The mouth hung open, making him look like a dumbass.

_Look at me! I just got tracked down because I was too stupid to delete my internet browsing history!_

Isabela smirked, amused at the thought. She shook out her hands at the wrists, drying her fingers from all the blood. It got on her shirt too, but that was why she avoided wearing white on the job.

“You enjoy this far too much,” Sebastian, her partner, pointed out.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “And I say you don’t enjoy it _enough_. Don’t you hate them, like _actually_ hate them? Not my clock-in-clock-out shit?”

“They’re vile creatures, cursed by The Maker for-”

“Yeah, yeah, Chantry Boy,” Isabela muttered. “Save the spiel for Sunday School.”

Isabela wasn’t sure why _she_ had to be cursed with such a stick-in-the-mud of a partner. It wouldn’t kill him to get into it every once and a while. Or get into _her_ , she thought as she looked him over. He was attractive for a preachy cunt. If one ignored the self-righteousness, which, to be fair, was hard to do.

“I just might. Once I get initiated, I might give lectures to the students,” Sebastian said, and Isabela sighed. There he went with that insane idea of joining the Chantry as a Brother. He always kept saying he was going to get initiated, but he never did. She suspected not even someone as religious as him actually wanted to be a Chantry Brother. The celibacy alone sounded downright inhumane to her.

“Sure,” Isabela replied, elongating the word just enough to sound skeptical.

“I will,” Sebastian said, “and you’d get to tell your friends you’re partnered up with a _Brother_.” He said it like she would be working with the fucking _Divine_ herself.

“And they’ll pat me on the back and say,” Isabela retorted, ““Chin up, it’s not _all_ bad.””

“You wound me, Isabela,” Sebastian said.

“I _can’t_ or they’ll take away my license,” Isabela countered, letting sarcasm drip from her voice like the blood from that vamp’s neck wound.

“I’m sure there’s a lot you do that could get your license revoked,” He pointed out.

“Wouldn’t _you_ love to know?” She licked her lips. She bet he hadn’t gotten laid in months. Holy words were poison to flirting.

“As much as I love our banter,” Sebastian said, “I have to be getting home.”

“You won’t risk one drink with me?” Isabela was intending on going to the nearest bar, which was probably The Marionette. Or maybe The X. She didn’t remember.

“I’m sober; you know that,” He reminded her before turning and leaving. “See you another time, Isabela.” His retreating figure soon disappeared behind an alleyway.

She pouted as she watched him go. He really was no fun. One of these days she’d have to drag him kicking and screaming into a bar for a nice round of drinks and pleasant company.

She went along the sidewalk, figuring she should pick a direction. The air was thick with fog, though it seemed to disperse towards the ground. The Marionette was northwest, The X east somewhere. She got out a coin, and she idly thought it was weird she still carried those. Most people paid by check, or by card, these days. She flipped the coin. Heads. _The Marionette it is._ She turned west then walked for a few blocks before turning north.

The streets were unusually empty this time of night. Kirkwall’s Lowtown was usually full of cars coming and going. A couple passed by here and there, a Lucascan and a Koslun as far as she could tell. She was never great with the makes of cars. But that was about it. She wondered if everyone decided to stay home because it was a weeknight.

She decided to not give it much thought.

Not even when she thought she heard something. Which was nothing.

She did turn around, though, just to make sure.

She went into the bar without much ceremony. These were her typical haunts, after all. Maybe not the most glamorous of lifestyles, but she liked to think she made it work. The bar had some customers, as per the usual. A gaggle of regulars lined the wall to the far left. A few hapless teens at one of the tables in the center were there despite looking underage. And at the bar counter was an array of stools, only one of which was occupied.

Isabela went up to the bar counter. “Hey, Cabot.”

The bartender grunted in answer.

“Pretty quiet night, isn’t it?”

Cabot grunted again. Well, no one could say she didn’t try.

To her right, a voice piped up. “You didn’t want to stay home to watch the Amell unveiling of that new watchtower?”

Ah, so that’s why the streets were a ghost town. Public television was always a disappointment. Couldn’t they show something interesting for a change? Rich vamps desperate for publicity were just par for the course.

Isabela turned to the stranger, seeing the shock of black hair out of the corner of her eye. “Do I look like I give a shit what some vamps decide to do for public goodwill?”

“Hey,” She said, “it could help the police keep us safe.”

“The police that they staff with their cronies,” Isabela scoffed. “What’s a police force worth if they’re in most powerful political faction’s pocket?”

The stranger seemed to give that some thought as she nursed her drink. Finally, she set it down and turned fully to her. “I’m Hawke.”

Isabela took the opportunity to give her the onceover. Hawke was busty, that was for sure. Isabela could almost feel them overflowing from her hands. Not to mention the way her hips jut out like they were just demanding to be steered toward a bed. This was all despite her modest attire: a long-sleeved top with a mockneck and dark jeans. She didn’t even show any cleavage, or bellybutton, or arms for that matter.

Her face, though, something about it was familiar.

Isabela smirked. “Buy a girl a drink, Hawke? I’m as dry as a bone.”

“Oh,” Hawke said, a flirtatious tone to her voice, “Somehow, I doubt _that_.”

“Why don’t _come_ here and see for yourself?” She winked.

“I like to think you’ll be the one doing the coming.” Hawke leaned in a little, her arm still resting on the bar counter.

She tilted her head, watching Hawke raise her glass. “Famous last words before you’re on your hands and knees.”

She nearly choked on her drink, setting it down and coughing it out. “I- I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” Isabela said with a quirk of her brow. She extended her hand. “Isabela.”

Hawke shook it.

They looked eachother in the eyes as they shook hands. Hawke’s were a cold grey-blue, like the sky just after it rains. It was a world onto itself, and Isabela could just see the crows in flight. Maybe some rainclouds. An airplane or two.

“What’s your poison?” She asked, and Isabela was startled out of her imagination’s running wild.

“A whiskey sour,” Isabela said, directing the comment to the bartender.

With a nod, he started making her drink. Hawke frowned.

“Sorry, I know you don’t want to pay for a cocktail,” Isabela said, knowing the prices of mixed drinks could be steep nowadays.

“I’m guessing you’re not the kind of woman who has to pay for her drinks,” Hawke commented. “If it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else.”

“Astute observation,” Isabela said. “Some more of those and I might keep you around.”

The frown turned to a smile. “I’d be honored to be worth keeping.”

The bartender handed her the drink. “The honor’s all mine.”

They sat and they downed their drinks. Isabela had a few, and Hawke had a few more than a few. They chatted too, but, over the course of the night, Isabela found herself less interested in conversation and more in seeing what Hawke looked like under those clothes. There was something off about it, though, the way their conversation twisted and turned. She couldn’t put a finger on why, though. Too focused on the swell of her breasts and her piercing gaze. Oh there were a lot of places she wanted the woman to _pierce_ her.

“Do you want to go back to your place?” Hawke asked, out of the blue.

Isabela blinked, shot out of her reverie. “What?”

“You’re obviously bored,” Hawke said, “and I can take a hint.”

“I do want to,” Isabela said, “but just so you’re prepared, my place isn’t… the most organized.”

“So it’s messy,” She stated.

“That’s one word for it,” She responded.

Next thing she knew, Hawke was standing in front of the junkyard that masqueraded itself as Isabela’s apartment.

Her jaw was hanging, making her look like a dumbass. “You weren’t kidding.”

Isabela nodded. “It’s a little messy.”

“A little?” Hawke closed her mouth, before opening it again to speak. “It looks like a hurricane went through here. You even have water damage along the walls over there.” She pointed to a deep splotch where two walls met.

“It’s not that bad,” Isabela said, waving it off with her hand.

““Not that bad?”” Hawke gestured outward to the whole apartment.

Empty cereal boxes were scattered across tables. Beer bottles were strewn across the floor. The carpet was half-folded against the coffee table, barely visible under the amount of clutter laying on top. Soiled clothes were draped haphazardly across furniture. And Isabela was eager to add some clothes to those piles.

“How you could even-” Hawke’s screed went to a sputtering stop as Isabela took off her top.

“How I could even what?” She smiled wickedly.

Hawke stared. “I- I- Uh- I-”

Isabela took off her shorts next, raising her leg to slip out of the shorts’ loop. She dangled them in the air in front of Hawke, before dropping the clothing to the floor.

“You…?” Isabela continued smiling, but it got wider this time.

Her eyes were busy raking over her body. “I seem to have, ah, misplaced my… train of thought.”

The difference between her at the bar and here was like night and day.

“Tell me,” Isabela said, “How long’s it been?”

“It’s been… It’s been a bit,” Hawke managed, biting her lower lip.

“You seemed so ready at The Marionette,” Isabela teased, stepping up to her. “Have you lost your nerve?”

“N-No, ma’am,” She said, reaching down to unzip her jeans.

Isabela clasped her hand on Hawke’s and helped her unzip them. Then, she grabbed the jeans by the waistband and pulled them down. Hawke lifted herself out of her pants legs, one limb at a time. Isabela liked the look of her legs. They were long and muscled, like she’d spent most of her days working out. Isabela’s own legs were shorter, with a little more meat on the bones.

She turned her attention next to her underwear. She gently pressed between Hawke’s legs, and she smirked. The woman was absolutely soaked through the cloth. She could only imagine how she would feel underneath. She dragged her hand along Hawke’s front and slipped it into her underwear.

The bush was soft to the touch, curling around her center in waves. She pushed past to her lips and traced along the edges. She faintly heard a sigh expel from the lips on her face.

“Patience, Hawke,” Isabela teased as she teased at her clit.

She kept applying light touches, just enough to taunt her. The little noises she made were just delicious. Finally, she decided to reward her by pressing harder. She slipped in a finger while she pressed on her clit with her thumb. She began rubbing circles into it, going clockwise at first before switching to counter-clockwise before switching back to clockwise again. Her finger inside curled and straightened, going back and forth at a steady rhythm. Hawke threw back her head and moaned at the ministrations.

Isabela then started picking up the pace. She curled inward further and further, and, when she straightened it, she made sure to tilt away a little each time. Slowly, she felt Hawke stretch around her, making it easier when she slipped in another finger. She had to slow down a little, forcing a whine out of Hawke in process, but then she went back to her faster pace.

It wasn’t long before Hawke climaxed. Isabela heard more than felt it, as Hawke cried out in almost what seemed to be pain. It must have gone over her too hard, or maybe she just sounded like that when she came. Isabela didn’t know. Isabela removed her now wet fingers from Hawke and slipped them out of her underwear.

Now, it was time for Isabela to take her own pleasure.

She took a step back.

But instead of her foot hitting the ground, it landed on something rounded. Her whole body tilted back, and she found her arms writhing in her air, trying to regain her balance. But it was no use. She fell back onto the ground, and she heard something shatter. Probably one of her bottles.

She felt a sting at her side. She touched at the site of the pain. The fingers came away from it stained with crimson. Isabela groaned as she turned her head toward Hawke. “That’s what I ge-”

What happened next came to her in flashes.

Hawke lunged forward, baring her fangs, eyes bloodshot. Ridges formed on her face, along her forehead and nose.

Isabela grasped the broken glass and quickly stabbed the vamp in the gut.

She hissed in pain.

She broke out into a run (Isabela didn’t try to stop her).

Then, the vamp got to the balcony and jumped off, disappearing into the night.

Isabela barely managed to process the chain of events before her mind got stuck on one detail in particular. Panting, she wiped the sweat off her brow.

“She’s a _vamp_?” She gasped out.

When Isabela was called into work the next day, she tried not to let it show that she brought a vamp home with her, of all things. She wore a lowcut top as usual, trying to show everyone, _look, no bitemarks_. She didn’t bare any midriff though, to cover up the cut at her side. She hoped that no one would notice the way she was avoiding questions. Or the nervous quality to her voice.

Sebastian was waiting for her by the entrance. “Isabela.” He nodded.

She nodded back. “Sebastian.”

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

To make up a good lie, she figured she should say something that wasn’t completely untruthful. “I’m just pissed about coming in on a Saturday.”

“Fair,” He replied. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend mine either. But I think this one’s important.”

“The boss did sound pretty frantic on the phone,” Isabela commented.

They went inside the building. The Hunters had headquarters in almost all the major cities across Thedas. They had several in the Free Marches alone. The one at Kirkwall was more upscale, considering all the patrons from people feeling threatened by the Amells’ stranglehold on the city. The walls were a clean off-white, and the ground was nicely carpeted in faint modernist patterns. The waiting room was particularly pleasant, with cushioned seating and a fine oak counter at one end of the room.

“Mother Evans wants to see us,” Sebastian told the receptionist. Jeyne or something like that.

She nodded. “She’s been waiting for you.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Isabela said wryly.

They headed towards the offices with her go ahead.

Elthina Evans was a Chantry Mother, who also doubled as their supervisor. The Chantry worked very closely with the Hunters. Personally, Isabela wasn’t sure she liked just how entwined the organizations were. They didn’t have the same control they had over the Templars, but it was still disquieting.

Her office was a few doors to the left. Isabela let Sebastian knock.

“Come in!” came the voice on the other end of the door.

Isabela and Sebastian gave eachother a look before opening the door. Usually, the door was already open. Or Elthina would open the door for them after she met them.

They went inside and closed the door behind them.

“You might want to lock the door,” She said.

On the desk were a bunch of folders, and Isabela could already tell she didn’t like the look of them. This was highly unusual. Typically, they’d just have one or two folders.

“We have a special assignment for you,” Elthina stated the obvious.

“ _I’ll_ say,” Isabela muttered.

“We’ve decided to look into the Amells,” She began. “We think they might be planning something nefarious. Bigger than a few dead citizens. This isn’t an assassination. We’re not asking you to hunt them down.”

“You just want eyes on them,” Sebastian said.

“A reconnaissance mission, if you will,” Elthina replied with a nod.

Isabela frowned. “But if we can take them out, shouldn’t we?”

“We’ll tell you when and if we need anyone eliminated,” Elthina clarified. “Right now, you just watch them.”

Isabela flipped open one of the folders up on the top of the pile.

“Oh, be especially careful with this one,” Elthina told her. “We think she’ll be one of your main obstacles. Not just one of the family but part of their clean-up crew as well.”

Isabela’s eyes widened when she looked at the picture. Light, smooth skin. Short black hair. Blue-grey eyes.

Hawke wasn’t just a vamp. She was a fucking _Amell_.


End file.
